


Professionalism

by ifitwasribald



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Past Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifitwasribald/pseuds/ifitwasribald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Prompt: "Bruce always refused payment for his skills as a doctor while on the run. He'd be able to get the odd job or two, but that rarely covered the expense of food and shelter, let alone medicine and supplies. Blowjobs pay the bills pretty well, though.</p>
<p>Somehow, Bruce lets this slip at during an Avengers debriefing and, while everyone else has the sense and decency not to pry, Tony will not fucking drop it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Professionalism

The man onscreen barely looked old enough to drink. He was handsome in an understated way, nothing that would turn heads on the street, but attractive enough. He didn't look like a terrorist or a genius or a mutant, but, Bruce reflected, most people don’t if they can help it.

"We think he's in Weimar," Hill continued, "and Prague before that. No known source of income, no known support. This is his fifth remote attack in as many weeks, and we don't expect to see him slow down. We need to find him, and fast. Any number of hostiles have their eye on him and it's not going to be long until one of them gets to him." Hill nodded at Natasha to offer her report.

“He’s not linked into any of the major criminal networks we monitor,” Natasha explained, not leaving her seat. “No unusual crimes reported, no break-ins to any major parts suppliers in any of the cities we’ve tracked him to.”

Hill looked at Tony. “Stark, could he just be manufacturing this stuff on his own without a fixed base of operations?”

Tony leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the conference table. “Not a chance. The kid’s good, but I’m not even sure I could—no, I totally could. But this guy, no way.”

Hill nodded. “So he’s got to be buying parts someplace. Any idea what that would be running him?”

Tony gestured vaguely. “Peanuts. Five, ten K?”

“That’s still a lot for a guy with no income.” Steve frowned. “It is, right?”

Clint nodded. “Yeah, not exactly chump change for those of us who aren’t Starks.”

“So where’s he getting the money?”

Clint shrugged. “I doubt he’s getting away with stealing that kind of cash all at once, but petty theft adds up.”

“And there’s always prostitution,” Bruce offered. “Kid with a face like that could make that much given a little time.”

Tony turned so fast that his feet fell off the table and landed noisily on the floor.

Natasha ignored him and nodded. “Definitely possible, if he could hang onto it.”

Tony’s eyes hadn’t left Bruce. “Wait, doesn’t anybody else want to know why Banner’s mind went straight to hooking?”

“Not really, no,” Hill told him. “Banner and Romanoff are right, it’s a possible income stream that we should be considering.”

“Not that helpful though,” Bruce noted apologetically. “Johns aren’t exactly on the lookout for wanted criminals.”

“What do you know about—” Tony stopped suddenly. “Wait a minute, do you—? Not that I’d fault you, hell, you of all people I do not want to see with blue balls.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “No. Now can we please move on to something useful?”

For a few minutes, Bruce got his wish as Hill, Clint, and Natasha hashed out the details of the surveillance protocols in Weimar. 

But Tony’s gaze stayed on Bruce throughout, and well before the others were finished with their discussion, his eyes lit up. 

“No,” he scoffed, cutting off Clint’s concerns about vantage points for one of the downtown cameras. “No way.”

Bruce sighed.

“You were a hooker,” Tony breathed, with the kind of reverence that most people saved for movie stars and miracle workers.

“More or less,” Bruce agreed evenly. “Clint, you were saying?”

Clint opened his mouth to continue, but Tony beat him to it. “OK, no way are we ignoring that.” He looked at Natasha and his brow furrowed slightly. “You don’t look surprised.” His gaze shifted to Hill. “And neither do you. Why aren’t you surprised?” He gave a dramatic gasp. “You already knew. Of course.”

“That’s almost cute,” Hill noted. “He thinks he could tell if either of us were surprised.” Natasha snorted her agreement. “Stark, we’ve got work to do. Keep your mouth shut or I’ll tell Barton to use your hide for target practice.”

Clint grinned and theatrically held a throwing knife up to the light to admire its edge.

Tony shut up. For the moment.

But Bruce wasn't surprised when Tony appeared in Bruce's lab the next morning.

"'More or less'?"

"Good morning, Tony," Bruce greeted him, refusing to shift his attention from his work.

Tony didn't return the greeting. He stood a few feet from Bruce, watching as he sorted and dropped and colored and examined the various samples on the lab bench.

When it became clear that Bruce wasn't going to address his original question, Tony tried again. "How were you 'more or less' a hooker?"

Bruce ignored him.

"Happy ending masseuse?" Tony guessed.

"No."

"Stripper?"

"No."

Tony's eyes widened as a thought occurred to him. “Dominatrix. Domina...tor? What is the masculine of dominatrix, anyway?”

"I think it’s just Dom. And no."

"Too bad, 'cause you'd rock the leather." He considered. "Or a tux.... Escort?"

"No."

"This is the most fun game of twenty questions ever."

Bruce looked up at him and rolled his eyes. "You're going to stop when you get to twenty?"

"Probably not."

"I suppose it was too much to hope for."

"It really was. So: porn?"

"No."

"Phone sex line?"

"No."

"Kept boy?"

Bruce snorted. "No."

"Huh."

Bruce sighed. He was almost certainly going to regret this, but he couldn’t help himself. “It is interesting how you’re dancing around the usual options.”

Tony’s brow furrowed. “What, like in a brothel?”

“No.”

Tony opened his mouth to try again, but suddenly Bruce was bored of the game. “I gave blowjobs for cash.”

Tony's mouth hung open for a long moment before resolving into a faint smile. His eyes fixed on Bruce, but vaguely, as if the visual on his mind wasn't the one in front of him. Bruce could guess what it was—himself, on his knees in some back alley, lips stretched over the dick of some sleazy stranger, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

Or maybe not. Maybe Tony wondered what Bruce would look like with his lips on the base of Tony's cock, mouth hot and tight around him. And so of course Bruce imagined it too—Tony's eyes, glazed with pleasure, staring down at Bruce while he used every trick he knew to take him apart. For a sudden, fierce moment, the desire to do just that blazed through Bruce’s veins. He shook his head to clear his mind of that particular train of thought and forced his expression into his usual wry smile. "Satisfied?"

"Not even close."

"So what do you want to know?"

Tony looked pained, like a kid forced to pick one candy from a store brimming with confections.

As he continued to sort through his samples, Bruce absently preempted the questions he knew Tony would find voice for sooner or later. “No, I didn’t have a pimp. Yes, it was in the kinds of alleys and stair wells and back rooms you’re imagining. No, it wasn’t that bad. I was lucky. Nobody messed with me.” He looked up at Tony. “Anything else?”

Tony blinked. “Why?”

Bruce frowned, puzzled. “Why what?”

“Why did you... do it?”

“The usual reason. I needed the cash.”

“I thought you played traveling medic.”

“The people who needed my help needed it because they couldn’t pay a doctor.”

“But, you’re— you’re you. You’re a genius.”

“Genius is surprisingly unmarketable when you don’t have the name and the resources to back it up. Not to mention being a wanted fugitive.” Bruce tried to keep his tone more resigned than bitter, with limited success.

“But I’m sure you could have—” Bruce met Tony’s eyes, and Tony trailed off weakly. “Right.” He looked away. “Sorry.”

Bruce shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad. It was easy, the money was good. Turns out you can get a lot penicillin off a night of cocksucking.”

“Wait, it wasn’t even— you turned tricks to pay for medication for starving old ladies and ailing orphans?” Tony’s eyes danced. “You were like an actual hooker with a heart of gold.”

"Not really. It was a stupid risk, under my particular circumstances, and nothing but dumb luck that nobody suffered for it." Bruce shrugged again. “It let me feel like I was doing some good. I needed that. Even liked it, sometimes," he admitted.

Tony eyed him speculatively. “Want to do it again?”

Bruce very carefully laid down the pipette he had been using. “Excuse me?”

“Ten million for Médecins Sans Frontières, or UNICEF, or whatever charity you pick.”

“In exchange for blowing you.” It wasn’t quite a question.

“That’s the general idea.”

Bruce prided himself on his practicality. Whatever got the job done, helped the most people and hurt the fewest, that was the moral choice. He didn’t get hung up on conventions, or taboos, or pride, didn’t value his own honor above, well, much of anything he gave a damn about. And by that rubric, it wasn’t even a choice. A tiny slice of his time, half an hour, tops, against money that could save thousands of lives. It wouldn’t be unpleasant. Hell, he’d been fantasizing about it not five minutes previous.

But the inexorable moral logic didn’t dissipate the sick feeling squirming through the pit of his stomach and threatening to make its way up his throat.

“Why?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“Have you seen your lips?”

The nausea stayed, but Bruce smiled a little in spite of himself.

“You were good at it, weren’t you?”

He looked down for a moment, and then up, meeting Tony’s eyes, and speaking with simple confidence. “Very.”

“Answer enough, then.”

“Not really. You could have a different prostitute in your bed every night until you die. If all you wanted was technique, you’d have it.”

Tony didn’t answer immediately. Thoughts flicked openly across his face, and his mouth twisted, as if he were struggling to find the words he needed. “The men who— The men you— They had no idea. They had _you_ there, with all those thoughts and ideas and theories, all that power and fury and will. They were paying for your time, and they— they _squandered_ it, because they had no idea.”

Bruce didn’t understand, but the knot in the pit of his stomach loosened. “You want... that, because... it’s a waste?”

Tony spoke quietly, fiercely. “Because I would appreciate you.” His lips quirked in a wry smile. “Because I would know that you could be off revolutionizing physics or annihilating gods, and you’d be with me instead.” 

Bruce couldn’t find any words, and didn’t know what he’d say with them if he could.

After a long moment, Tony ducked his head. "You know what, you're right. It was a stupid idea." He turned to leave the lab.

“Tony?” Bruce called out before he made it as far as the door.

“Yeah?”

“Donate the money anyway.”

“What, just because you got down on your knees and sucked strangers’ dicks for the money to heal the sick, you expect me to donate a fraction of my personal fortune?”

Bruce chuckled.

Tony waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, consider it done. MSF good?”

“Yeah.”

Tony nodded and took another couple of steps towards the door.

“Tony?”

He turned. “What? I’m good for it. JARVIS, go ahead and make the transfer now. Find the money from whichever of the investments are easiest to liquidate, usual algorithms.”

“Yes Sir,” confirmed JARVIS’s disembodied voice.

Bruce took a few steps to close the distance between them. “It’s done?”

“It’s done.”

“Good,” he said quietly into Tony’s ear. “Because,” his voice suddenly sounded small and sad even to his own ears, “I really didn’t want this to be for money.” 

Tony gave a sharp intake of breath as Bruce knelt at his feet and reached up to ease his belt free of its buckle.

“Jesus, Bruce. You don’t have to—”

“I want to. Can I?”

“Who turns down a blow job?”

“That wasn’t a yes.”

“Yes! Yes, fuck, yes.” Tony babbled as Bruce opened Tony’s pants and pulled them halfway down his thighs. The little sounds of anticipation shivered through Bruce as they never had with strangers.

Bruce dropped his gaze to Tony’s cock and licked his lips. Tony was only half hard, but big already, and thick. Bruce leaned in and took the whole length into his mouth, opening his throat and feeling Tony swell and harden and fill him. Bruce swallowed rhythmically, lips and tongue and throat working in time, and Tony jerked and cursed and moaned above him.

“Fuck holy fucking Christ, Bruce, more. Please more.”

Bruce took that as his cue to back off, tonguing and teasing Tony’s cock as he went, feeling out the sensitive spots and ridges, and enjoying Tony’s disappointed whimper almost as much as he had the moans. When he reached the tip of Tony’s cock he circled the head with his tongue, dipped into his slit, and then sucked, first gently and then harder as his tongue continued to explore the smooth, salty skin.

“Oh, oh fuck, Bruce, your mouth is— oh God.” Tony grabbed the bench behind him hard, and Bruce could feel his legs tremble.

Bruce brought a hand up to grasp the base of Tony’s cock and swallowed him until his lips met his fist. Tony quieted a little, and Bruce knew he didn’t consider the move impressive or exotic. Bruce let him think that for a moment, bobbing up and down Tony’s cock once, twice, his hand following the motion of his lips. Tony gave a calm hum of satisfaction, and Bruce almost chuckled.

He allowed himself to smile around Tony’s cock, lips tight and tongue hard and flat on the underside of his prick, licking up against the place where the head met the shaft with every stroke. Tony gasped, moaned, and shifted to grip the table tighter. Bruce hummed his satisfaction and began to work in earnest, sucking him in all the way up and down the shaft, using tongue and lips and the occasional careful rasp of teeth to hit every pleasure point.

Tony’s moans at that put porn stars to shame. The sounds—raw and desperate and grateful and needy all at once—made Bruce’s cock throb and his balls ache. His free hand began to drift down to his own erection before he remembered that he had something better to do with that hand. 

He reached up behind Tony’s cock to grasp his balls, massaging, teasing, ever so gently tugging as Tony’s gorgeous mouth produced gasps and sighs and whimpers and pleas. Just a few more strokes and Bruce felt Tony tense, his balls tight and his skin practically vibrating with need. Bruce moaned around Tony’s cock as if he too were ready to spill.

He controlled himself and released his grip on Tony’s cock, keeping his lips firm around it as he continued to suck. He let that hand slide up Tony’s body, over his shirt and up to his neck, his chin, until Tony took the hint and bent his head to suck in two fingers.

Bruce hummed his pleasure at the wet heat of Tony’s mouth and then pulled his hand away, drawing it down and around to rest on the crease of Tony’s ass.

Bruce started to make a questioning noise, seeking permission. Some men didn’t care for that sort of thing.

Tony was clearly not one of those men.

“Bruce, yes, God yes please Bruce. I will— anything, just please, please, now—“

Bruce pressed in with one careful finger and in the same moment bobbed all the way to the dark thatch of hair at Tony’s groin, his mouth and throat conspiring to create that perfect, rippling suction as his finger found Tony’s prostate and pressed.

Tony bucked and shuddered, his voice rising in a wordless cry as his back arched and his cock spasmed. Bruce swallowed around him, sucking out every drop, keeping lips and tongue and throat and finger moving as Tony’s body convulsed with pleasure.

Tony moaned as the aftershocks coursed through his body, and Bruce stayed on him, gentler now and wary of the first signs of oversensitivity, but not wanting to back away until he was sure Tony needed him to. It was too good to taste him and feel his pleasure and listen to his low, satisfied hum.

Finally Tony’s voice hitched and Bruce backed away, regretfully releasing Tony’s softening cock and gracefully rising to his feet.

Tony’s breath still came in gasps but he smiled at Bruce with soft, lidded eyes. “Hell, Bruce,” he managed. “That was— fuck, that was incredible. I didn’t—“

Bruce smirked and licked his lips. “Told you I was good.”

Tony drew in another rough breath. “You undersold it. Fuck did you undersell it. You are—“

“A pro?” Bruce offered dryly.

“Amazing,” Tony corrected, his breathing finally almost back to its usual rhythm. “Just one problem.”

Bruce frowned. “And that would be?”

“You’re way better than me.”

“And that’s a problem because?”

“Have you met me?” With no warning at all, Tony sank to his knees and ran a finger over the bulge in Bruce’s jeans. “I need to catch up.”


End file.
